Night Fire

by Catherine Coulter

  “My husband will be coming here soon, Etienne. You must release me and you must let me take Dorcas with me. She is ill. She must be cared for.”

  Arielle tugged again on the ropes. They had slipped down, even looser now. She was nearly free.

  “What is this? Pity for that old bedlamite? After she tried to kill you and ended up nearly sending your dear husband to his heavenly reward? Such an overflowing of good and kindly spirits, Arielle. I find it nauseating, if you would know the truth. No, my dear, I’m not about to let you walk out of here. You will be my guest. Yes, I like the sound of that. My guest. I will ransom you eventually of course. Your husband is a wealthy man. He will pay dearly for you—at least he’d better.

  “No. Do you hear me, Etienne? You won’t do that.”

  “You excite yourself, Arielle. I have not liked it, knowing that he has been enjoying you, taking you whenever he wished, having you service him at his whim. No, it has infuriated me each and every time I have pictured you on your knees in front of him.”

  She moaned, then bit down hard on the bottom lip, appalled that she had allowed him to terrorize her with words. That was all they were, simple words.

  “Would you like to know, my darling girl, what we will do before I ask your husband to ransom you? No curiosity? Well, I will tell you so that you may accustom yourself to the idea. You will become my mistress, finally. You will caress me and stroke me and kiss me as you did before.”

  His voice was trembling slightly before he finished his speech. Arielle stared at him. She’d known, deep down she’d known, that Etienne wouldn’t give up all that easily. But it made no sense. She said, “I don’t understand you. I never in my life did anything to harm you. Your father made me do that to you. I hated it. Why would you be so cruel? Why would you want to hurt me? I repeat, Etienne, why are you doing this?”

  He looked pensive, his gray-blue eyes narrowing on her pale face. “I told you once, but I see you didn’t attend me properly. My father gave you to me. I will take you and plant my seed in your belly. You will bear my child. He won’t, unfortunately, be master of Rendel Hall, but he will be a future earl, a wealthy and powerful man. And you will have been mine, just as my father had planned. Once your husband pays for your return, I will leave England. I believe I’ve a fancy to live in Naples. Yes, it is warm there, and the women are as lush as overripe fruit, or so I’ve been told by Evan. He plowed his way through Italy, he told me. I don’t know if I believe him, though. Women don’t take to your brother. His personality isn’t all that amiable.”

  “You must let me go, Etienne. Now. Burke will kill you if you don’t.”

  “Burke? Ah, yes, Burke Drummond. Tell me, Arielle, does he appreciate the exquisite training my father provided you?”

  “Stop it. Damn you, let me go.”

  He straightened and she pressed backward against the counter. He was coming to her, his expression determined, and in a mad effort, she yanked as hard as she could on the ropes. She felt them split open. She was free.

  As he reached out for her, she whipped her right hand out, the knife raised. She slashed at him, but he ducked, jerking to the side. The knife cut through his shirt, nicking his upper arm. He feinted to the right, lunged at her, and smashed her back against the counter. He grabbed her wrist and twisted it until she dropped the knife. He kicked it across the flagstone floor.

  He backhanded her. Her ankles were still firmly tied, and his blow sent her toppling to the floor. He slammed down on top of her, his legs straddling her, and he slapped her again. “So you wanted to knife me, did you.”

  She didn’t make a sound. He’d knocked the breath out of her. Pain shot through her back and shoulder from the crash against the stone floor. Her cheek was stinging from his blows. He raised his hand, stared down at her face, then slowly lowered his arm.

  “No,” he said, more to himself than to her. “No, no more.” He rose, pulling her to her feet and supporting her. “Dorcas,” he shouted. “Come here.”

  Arielle heard the shuffling steps. Dorcas had been standing outside the kitchen door listening to him abuse her. When she stepped inside, she looked at Arielle and slowly shook her head. “It’s all right, Miss Arielle. I’ll take care of you just as I always did with him. You’ll be safe now.” Her voice was a croon, soft, without inflection.

  “I want you to fetch hot water. Your mistress needs a bath. I want her to bathe upstairs, in the master’s bedchamber. Do you understand?”

  “Aye, I understand.”

  “Dorcas, wait. Don’t.”

  Etienne began to squeeze her ribs until the pain swamped her. But pain could be controlled. She’d watched Burke do it. She could as well. She had but to concentrate and breathe deeply. She had to focus herself inward.

  “Don’t try to escape me, damn you. I want you aware of everything I do to you. I will make you feel, Arielle, really feel, unlike my father. You won’t retreat from me; I won’t allow it.”

  He pulled her against him then, clasped her chin between his fingers, and kissed her once, hard. He hefted her over his shoulder, and when she reared up, he slapped her buttocks hard.

  Etienne came to an abrupt halt at the foot of the stairs. She heard him curse. “I just remembered—your damned horse. Well, my dear girl, you have a brief respite. I must needs take care of your mare. If anyone comes around, I don’t want her within view.” Etienne lowered Arielle to the bottom step, pulled off his leather belt, and tightly secured her wrists to the railing.

  “Do wait for me, Arielle,” he said, and left the Hall.

  Arielle leaned her forehead against her bound wrists. What to do? One tug on the belt assured her that pulling free was impossible. She felt tears sting the back of her eyes. No, that would solve naught. She heard Dorcas’s shuffling steps on the stairs above her and forced herself to look up.

  “It’s all right, Miss Arielle.” She felt the old woman’s fingers stroke through her tangled hair. “I’ll take care of you just as I always did. I wonder what I did with the cream? I must find it. I don’t want you to scar.”

  She moved past Arielle, across the entrance hall toward the kitchen.

  Arielle tried to block out her words. She tried to focus on Burke. Surely he would know that she was missing, and he would scour the countryside for her. He wouldn’t give up. Would Geordie remember she’d ridden Mindle east?

  And when he finally finds you? And you’ve been raped by Etienne? Used by Etienne? Will he still want you? What will he say if he learns you’re pregnant with another man’s child?

  She felt a low, deep keening sound fill her throat.

  “All secure, my dear girl.” She didn’t look up. Etienne strode through the front doors and locked them behind him.

  He rubbed his hands together. He felt excellent, just excellent. At last things were going the way they’d been intended. He walked over to Arielle and lightly patted her cheek. She jerked away from him as far as her bonds would allow.

  “I’m not a bad-looking man, Arielle. Surely you’ll admit that. Unlike my father, I’m not fat and I don’t have any rotted teeth. Women have told me I’m a good lover. Perhaps not as good as you are a whore, but I shan’t fail you. Come, now, don’t carry on so.”

  “Let me go.”

  “We’ll see how long your stubbornness lasts.” As he spoke, he unfastened the belt from the railing and loosened her wrists. She bent down to the bonds on her ankles.

  “Oh, no, my dear, not just yet.” He pulled her to her feet and once again hoisted her over his shoulder. “You’re light, Arielle. I will soon see if you’re too thin. I remember you so well from that night, your body gleaming so pale and fine in the candlelight. You were very slender but not thin. Ah, and your breasts. I remember thinking they were so full for such a slender girl. And those long legs of yours, Arielle. I dreamed so many nights of feeling your thighs lock about me.”

  She couldn’t bear it. She reared up, smashing her fists against his head. He jerked her down to stand
in front of him. “You do that again and you will regret it. Do you understand me, Arielle?” He shook her, and her head snapped back on her neck.

  She understood him and she believed him. She sagged where she stood. This time he didn’t heft her over his shoulder. He forced her to take short, hopping steps beside him down the long corridor toward the master’s bedchamber.

  “There, now you can concentrate on not falling on your lovely face instead of taking exception to what I’m saying. Now, where was I? I will tell you again, my dear girl, that I’m not a brute like my father. There will be no question of punishment.” He paused a moment, then added, his voice sounding a bit odd, almost dreamy, “Unless, of course, you force me to it.”

  Again she felt that odd keening sound coming from deep inside her.

  “Ah, here we are. I do hope that old crone has prepared your bath for you. You do smell like your horse, my dear. You even have some of the stench from that damned goose.”

  Etienne dragged her into the master bedchamber. All the draperies were pulled back from the windows. Bright summer sunlight flowed into the room. A copper tub had been placed by the fireplace. This room, unlike the others, had no Holland covers, but there was dust on the wooden floor and the smell of disuse.

  “I believe I’ll tie up your wrists again. It won’t hurt, I promise you. You remember that hook up there? My father told me of how he would fasten you on a long rope from that hook and just look at you. For hours sometimes, he told me. You’d be there, naked, for him and only him.”

  “No, Etienne. No.”

  “Finally you speak to me. Well, I should prefer other words from your beautiful mouth. I will do as I wish, Arielle. Accept it.”

  He found a long thin rope in the armoire. He wrapped it about her wrists, then stood on a chair and tied the top of the rope to the hook embedded in the ceiling. He adjusted it until she was able to stand comfortably, her arms drawn up above her head.

  “Now,” he said. He bent down and unfastened her ankles.

  She felt numbing pain, for Dorcas had tied them very tightly.

  Etienne rubbed them until the stinging feeling made her want to cry out. She didn’t make a sound.

  He leaned back on his haunches for a moment, and without thought, without consideration for the consequences, she kicked out at him, connecting with his groin.

  He stared at her for an instant, disbelief in his eyes. Then he howled with pain and fell back. He doubled over, holding himself.

  She stared down at him. Fool, a thousand times a fool. She was helpless and she’d still hurt him badly. She closed her eyes and waited.

  She hadn’t long to wait. Etienne got hold of himself. The roiling nausea receded. He managed to rise, then finally to stand straight again. He looked at her. She realized, he knew, that what she’d done was stupid. He smiled at her.

  He walked close and lightly rubbed his knuckles over her white cheek. “You kick out again and you will regret it more than you can imagine. I am right now deciding whether or not to take revenge for the pain you caused me. You try to inflict more, and I swear to you that you will be the one howling in agony. Do you understand?”

  Her eyes were tightly closed. She made no movement.

  “Do you understand?” He grasped her chin in his hand and shook her head until she opened her eyes. “Well?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I understand.”

  “Good.” Then he kissed her. She gasped, trying to pull away from him, but it was no good. He kissed her until he was through. He’d tried to thrust his tongue into her mouth, but she’d kept her lips tightly closed. He stepped back. He looked lost in contemplation. “It has been so long since I’ve seen you. I can’t decide which part of you I wish to see first. Have you any suggestions, my dear girl?”

  She turned her face away, saying nothing.

  “Well, I shall just start at the bottom, then.”

  He knelt in front of her and pulled off her riding boots, tossing them over his shoulder. “Now your skirt, I think.” She felt his fingers opening her riding jacket, seeking the fastenings on her skirt. They came open easily. He drew it down over her hips, downward until he had lifted each foot and the skirt was on the floor. “Charming,” he said. He untied the string of her petticoat, and she felt the cool air touch her bare thighs. “Now the stockings,” Etienne said. He rolled down each stocking, lightly stroking her legs as he did so. Soon she stood before him garbed in only her short chemise, blouse, and riding jacket.

  “A truly exquisite painting you would make. Yes, indeed.”

  “I found some cream, Miss Arielle.”

  Both Etienne and Arielle stared at Dorcas. She came into the room at her slow, shuffling pace, holding a jar in her right hand.

  “What do you want, you bloody old hag?”

  “The cream,” Dorcas said in the exaggerated patient tone she’d occasionally used with Arielle when she’d been a child. “I don’t want Miss Arielle scarred. You’ve tied her up. She always hated that, you know. She cried. Always. She isn’t crying now. I don’t understand.”

  “Get out, you cretinous old crone.”

  Dorcas looked confused. “All right. I’ll wait for you, Miss Arielle, in your bedchamber. I’ve the cream. I’ll take care of you as I always did.”

  Arielle closed her eyes so he couldn’t see her pain at Dorcas’s madness.

  “My God, the old fool’s batty as your English king.”

  Etienne followed Dorcas to the adjoining door, and Arielle heard him order her to bring in the cans of hot water. She watched Dorcas, her back bowed, lug the cans of water to the copper tub and dump them in. Again and again until the tub was fill. Etienne then saw her to the door and slammed it after her.

  “Now,” he said, smiling at Arielle. “I fear, my dear, that I will simply have to sacrifice your blouse and jacket. You shouldn’t miss them all that much. My father told me that you were quite used to being with him as naked as the day you were born. You would do fine stitchery, naked, when he wasn’t using you, so he could enjoy the sight of you. Don’t you remember those times, Arielle?”

  “Your father was insane, Etienne, and wicked and evil. You told me you weren’t like him. But listen to yourself. Please, you must stop this. You must let me go.”

  “Don’t worry that I will treat you as he did. How many times must I repeat myself? Pray say no more on that head. It begins to annoy me.”

  He went to Paisley’s desk and opened the top side drawer. He removed a letter knife. The handle was of the whitest pearl, the blade only three inches long.

  Arielle trembled at the sight of that knife, she couldn’t help herself. But what he did was simply to slit open her jacket sleeves from wrist to shoulder. Then he slit the shoulder seams and peeled the jacket off. He performed the same operation with her blouse. Finally she was standing covered only with her fine lawn chemise.

  He stared at her for a moment, his eyes roving from her face down to her bare toes. Lightly he touched his fingertips to a breast, stroking it through the chemise.

  She sucked in her breath and tried to pull back.

  “All right, Arielle. Enough teasing. Let me see you now.” And the knife snipped through the lacy straps. He pulled the chemise down slowly, pausing a moment at her waist, then pulling more until it pooled in a soft white heap at her feet. He stood back, rubbing his fingers over his jaw.

  “Glorious,” he said.

  Humiliation. Pure and unadulterated humiliation. It had been so long but the feelings came back with a rush. She was there again, with Paisley, feeling his eyes on her, feeling his hand pat her buttock as he strolled past her to fetch a cheroot, perhaps.

  “A pity, but I don’t wish you to have to bathe in cold water. I will untie you now, Arielle. If you give me any difficulties, I will be forced to hurt you.”

  He untied her wrists and pulled her to the copper tub. “Sit down and scrub the horse smell from yourself.”

  He dumped a sponge and a bar of lavender-scent
ed soap in her lap. He walked to the chair by the fireplace, turned it to face her, and sat down, crossing his legs at his ankles.

  “A very pleasant sight,” he said.

  She sat huddled in the tub, her arms wrapped around her knees, unmoving.

  “Bathe yourself or I will do it.”

  She forced herself to soap the sponge. Slowly, her head turned away from him, she began to rub the sponge over herself. “Very nice,” she heard him say. “Don’t bother with your hair. If there is any horsey scent in it, I’ll simply spray it with some perfume I found in my father’s desk. I wondered if it was yours, Arielle. It’s lavender, just like the soap.”

  He’d changed, she realized. He was more confident, more self-assured than before. He sounded, oddly enough, more like his father. His French accent was nearly gone. She shuddered, hearing him say, “Is the water cold already, Arielle? Would you like me to help you out now?”

  She shook her head. She didn’t want to look at him or talk to him. She wanted to ignore him so he would disappear. Foolish, foolish girl. She ran the soapy sponge over her stomach.

  “Lower, Arielle.”

  She swallowed and obeyed him. What to do? She must think of something. To be a passive victim—no, she couldn’t, wouldn’t let that happen to her again. What if she were the strong one? What if she took control from him?

  Slowly, Arielle stood up in the tub. She wrung out the sponge, letting the water trail over her breasts. “Give me a towel,” she said, her voice as cold as the water.

  Etienne arched a black brow. He rose, fetched the thick towel from the back of a chair and handed it to her. He looked at her breasts, at the slick beads of water.